


The Prophecy Of Three

by xLitheKitty33



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Add tags as I go, Child Abuse, Cognitive Dissonance, Drama, Ectopic Pregnancy, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Magical blood adoptions, Multi, Polyamory, Prophecy, Rape/Non-con Elements, The pairings may not be a thing for a while, Underage Rape/Non-con, description excerpt isn't in the story, i don't know what this is, it's to introduce it, playing with prophecies are fun, rivalries, somewhat dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13616637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLitheKitty33/pseuds/xLitheKitty33
Summary: When he wanted to know what prophecy Sybil Trelawney could give him, this was not at all what he suspected.Dumbledore didn't realize the telling of this prophecy would be so complicated. Yes, complicated was the right word for it. There was no other way to describe it. This was an unlikely group and there was no way that this group of people would connect, at least if he didn't meddle that is. A (probably) muggleborn, the son of the infamous duo, James and Lily Potter, and the Malfoy's son.Grave things were to come their way, very grave things, he could tell. That much, Dumbledore was sure.So when Sirius Black had contacted him again, with two young children who were not even ready to go to Hogwarts, Dumbledore somehow had the feeling it was going to be so much easier than what he had been originally planning.





	1. The Prophecy Of Three Foretold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only the words that Sybil Trelawney has given. Her prophecy, the prophecy that changed their world.

_In the succession of two years, it will begin in the middle of the ninth month, and the journey will begin again on the beginning of the sixth and the end of seventh month of the following year._

_An ordinary family she thinks she is beholded, for a short remainder of her years, but there in lies secrets and regrets. She will be raised by another when the time comes, not forced into spilling blood but doing so willingly, and come to find the meaning of this birthright as her own, and embrace it with the help of her equals._

_The family of his most loyal will fall out of grace with Voldemort, and thus give a son to be his heir. Their only heir shall take his blood at a forced hand by the time of his magical capacity test. It will forever remark their tree. He shall make his own decisions when he finally comes to terms with his equals._

_A son born to two who have defied him three times, will stand as his rival, overpowering Voldemort easily so long as he is beside the two who gives him strength. They are his equals._

_Their delicate red threads are attached at the root and when they collide, finally meeting and compromising, all will become clear._

_And all will descend into chaos. It will only be the beginning to that needed end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I like playing around with like prophecies and stuff and thought it would be fun to do it like this.  
> I also like playing around with putting them in different houses and I have a reason to put one not in the same house as the others. Sort of.  
> I am still working out the kinks and stuff but this makes me happy. I don't know when I will next update it, but this will definitely be a piece that will be harder to write, mainly due to it's darker aspects (I already have enough trouble with 'Wounds and Trauma' which is more hurt/comfort but contains pretty dark aspects similar to a lot of the ones here, only this is told by a younger child in the beginning so it is painted oddly. The Witch Trials is also a somewhat dark story for some similar reasons) but I just love this idea.  
> The only issue is doing it justice but I will try!


	2. The Middle Of The Ninth Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the prophecy foretold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written in a different writing style than I am used to. I might do that with other chapters as well.

"You look just like your mother."

She thought that was a good thing. It meant a piece of her was still in this world even though she heard her mother's side of the family was dead. She was still here. 

"You're just like your mother."

She never met her mother, only her ghost and she was certain the weird silver entity that followed her could only be her, so hearing of her always made her happy. It was good to hear about a woman she'd never meet but always wanted to. 

"You are your mother's daughter."

There were times when those words meant the world to her. 

And then like everything else, it changed when she was five years old. 

He came home one day, drunk. Hermione had been sitting in her room when it happened. He never came home until later. It wasn't night yet. She wasn't sleeping yet. 

Raging footsteps were headed towards her door. 

The door was slammed open and Hermione almost dropped her book. 

A creepy grin had been on his face. He wasn't her dad she'd tell herself, he was that man right now, the mean man. 

He slowly stepped towards her as if she would disappear in a white gown like mama did. 

He reached a hand over to her dark curls that framed her face.  _"You look just like your mother."_

**RING.**

**RING.**

**RING.**

**DANGER!**

Warning bells continued to play in her head. 

She couldn't stop him.

Sometimes she would trick him into thinking she wasn't home until he passed out, and that would be worth the yelling in the morning.

She didn't want to be like her mother anymore. 

* * *

"That's a good girl. So beautiful you are."

She was in pain. So much pain. 

"Don't stop baby."

No, please stop. She'd beg. 

"Too quiet."

He picked up pace and then she screamed in agony unable to keep quiet as he drilled into her. 

"You deserve it. You killed her."

He spanked her demanding she count as he continued to thrust into her. 

"One!"

"She should've aborted you!"

"Two!"

"I wish you were never born. We didn't even want you!"

"Three!" She cried breaking down into a sobbing mess. 

He finished and left. Leaving her in a pool of his fluids and their sweat, along with a smear of blood. 

She felt icky. 

Disgusting. 

Degraded. 

Worthless. 

But that was normal. 

Sometimes when he did it, he would stop as she continued to wish for it to stop. Other times he would become confused and then pursue her even more feverently and aggressively. 

Even her books didn't make her feel better. The silvery white entity beside her continued to say silent as if she couldn't speak and tried to touch her but the hand passed through. She shivered. 

She sometimes wondered if it was possible that she somehow conjoured this silvery white entity out of her imagination and only she could see it.

* * *

_Tick tock._

_Tick tock._

_Tick tock._

_Tick tock._

The endless loop continued to play. She counted the time it took until he would be by her side again. She didn't want him to be there. 

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

That wasn't him. He didn't knock like that, but the door wasn't locked so he would have slammed it open. It was mama. She could just pass though but she always knocked for some reason.

_Squeak._

He said she was imagining it, that ghosts weren't real. Just like how magic wasn't real. 

But then who else would it be? 

This ghost didn't speak. She stared at her silently as if she couldn't remember who she was. 

"I am scared."

_If only she could do something._

"Why did you leave me all alone?"

 _Silence._  

"I didn't mean to kill you!"

**Murderer.**

**Killer.**

She was a murderer.

The cause of her death.

That's what papa — no that man was not her papa, he was not her dad, he was not her father — that mean man always claimed. She died when Hermione was brought into this world. 

She wished mama had lived through it but she was a dangerous pregnancy and her mother chose to sustain it rather than end it. And then it killed her. 

The ghost continued to stare at her with the whispy and frizzy long hair that looked similar to her daughter's mane and bright large eyes that stared at her.

There was nothing to say as sobs continued to echo in her head. She had learned to cry silently since the incident.

"Please, save me."

* * *

She wasn't supposed to have been born. She wasn't even in the correct position. She as a fertilized egg did not make it to the uterus. Instead, she was embedded into one of her fallopian tubes which could rupture if she grew too large. 

Her mother was advised to give her up, but she couldn't. 

Her father used to assure they'd done all they could. As she developed further, they monitored her. 

Everything was ok. 

Until it wasn't anymore and she had been born early, but that was because her mother's tube burst. 

They didn't moniter her closely enough. 

It was almost unheard, an ectopic pregnancy where the both the baby and mother survive even if that was all that was covered. It was a miracle. 

There were many of the mother's survival with the death of the baby. 

There were none of a baby surviving and the mother not. At least none that were covered. 

* * *

This level of loneliness was normal. It was them who were weird. 

This amount of heavy weight was normal. It was what she carried every day. 

Was it normal? She walked around paranoid and repulsed by everyone's touch.  She was terrified to work with anyone. 

There was rarely concern. Their only concern was with the fact that her behavior was slightly too soft. Too shy.  It seemed as though she was abused but mental abuse is much harder to discern without physical abuse apparently. It didn't matter, this was the only thing she really knew, so she didn't want to ask for help as she realized that something was wrong with her life compared to others. She didn't want change. Change was scary. During those times where some suspected that there were some sort of abuse was going on, but what abuse was there? 

The only thing was the violation she felt everyday but that was normal. She just wasn't acting normal. The only indicator was her behavior, there were no physical markers. Even then she only had a slight issue with her behavior, and it was the intense fear of being with others, but she was able to conceal it and fool them all with practice. 

She learned how to lie herself. 

This was normal. 

 _Her_ normal.

* * *

Today was her birthday. She didn't like her birthday very much. He always paid more attention to her than normal. Gross. 

Suddenly warning bells rang in her head again. This time louder than ever before. 

**RING.**

There was someone other than her father when she came home that day. That was not mama.

**RING.**

This unhinged person who was built in a muscular frame seemed to reminded her of a wolf. He growled. She decided she didn't like him. She desparately wished he would leave, hoping it was not another one of that man's friends who liked to touch her just as he did. 

**RING.**

He stalked around her father like a predator. It was as if he thought killing her father was something that would bring her pain. It wouldn't. 

She didn't know if she cried when it happened.

She was numb.

Or was she maybe happy. 

**DANGER!**

He bit him taking a large chunk of his neck and openly chewed it. The ripping noise that accompanied the action was ear screeching. Maybe that was because she still loved her father. 

**RING.**

Her father gurgled as blood began to pour out of his neck. It was so horrid to watch. 

**RING.**

She did not close her eyes as his sharp claws seeped into his skin with blood spattering out as his claws continued to sink deeper. 

**RING.**

Hermione's feet were glued to the ground and she soundlessly watched as he slashed and slashed. 

There was so much blood. So many bits and pieces of skin and parts of him spraying all over the place. 

**RING.**

The silvery entity hadn't been back for a while. She didn't think that it'd ever come back. 

_**DANGER!** _

She didn't even notice she let out a large scream while the werewolf slashed and feasted on the remains of her father before turning to her. 

She backed her self up to a wall muttering under her breath with begs and pleas if there was some miracle out there to save her. 

_SLAM!_

It was a miracle.

_CRASH!_

Soon the wolf man fled. 

She was saved. 

* * *

She stared at her father's carcass, breaths in and breaths out. 

"It's OK to cry." A hand was placed reassuringly on her shoulder but to her it felt like her father's touches. 

It slimy like when he slid into her or when he put a curl behind her ear. It was as gross as he was himself.

Disgusting. 

Dirty.

Shameful.

She flinched and quickly swatted the hand that rested on her shoulder away. This man looked concerned. This tall black haired man who she didn't even know, was staring at her, but she didn't even know someone could look at you like that. 

"What's your name?"

She hesitated.

"I can go first. I am Sirius Black." He said gently, keeping his hands away from her now. 

She looked at him and was about to speak 

— and then it hit her. 

Wave after wave. 

Repulsive shivering. 

She cried, for the first time in years she cried out loud. 

As she cried everything around her floated. Maybe somethings burned, but her tears flooded the fire. She couldn't tell. 

This was not normal.

**This was, it is**

_— it was different_

_— but so right_

**_— overwhelming._  **

And then she fainted after the large surge of magic that shocked the man standing beside her. He quickly swept her into his arms as he muttered under his breath thinking about what could he do. He then sighed and continued on his way as he did say he would meet with Lily and James. He couldn't leave her alone now.

He had to be careful with this girl. She was like a ticking time bomb. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you're a child, a lot of things you are raised with you perceive to be normal (even if it may be wrong) that is how one sleeps at night. At least that is how I saw it. During my childhood I was always treated as though I wasn't enough or I wasn't good for anything. To this day those beliefs are instilled in me but I attempt to tease it out. I only saw that it was not normal to think this way of myself when I began to surround myself with other people. I thought it was completely fine to hate myself and be anxious all the time but then meeting people and seeing how they perceive has opened my eyes. She hasn't offically met anyone who says it is wrong.At the moment she just thinks it is gross and she dislikes the idea of being around other quite a bit due to the traumatic experience by a person she trusted. That's why this is written the way it is. Even if there may be some issues with it.  
> The first few chapters probably will come quicker than other possible chapters.  
> But I have been plotting out this story non stop in the back of my head as I am always excited for new projects. It's great to get it out now.  
> There will be more to it soon.


	3. The Beginning Of The Sixth Month Of The Following Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another compartment in the prophecy foretold begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look for the parallels between the previous and this one! (When taking Advanced Placement (college level) Literature bleeds into your writing a bit.)  
> Also, compatible magic partners are your equals (this thing I made up is in The Witch Trials but the overall display with have differences.) and sometimes you can feel each other when close enough.  
> Also, terms from my early childhood education class are sinking in. (Babies are under 1. Toddlers are only 1-2! Preschoolers are 3-5)  
> By the way, if anyone wonder or needs more explanation on the last chapter, yes what Hermione experienced was cognitive dissonance, as did I, and that was why she perceived it that way and went back and forth between calling her mother fondly mama or by distancing herself by calling her mother, as with her father, denying that he was truly her father. There will be more of this as we go into the story, but it should get better.

"This child will do great things." 

Only the best were expected from their batch in the inner circle.

"Hes so young to have started showing signs."

Only but the best was given. 

"He hasn't shown signs yet!"

Very few were actually accepted. 

Draco didn't want to be apart of the few that were accepted. He wanted to live his life as a child and have fun.

Alas, it was much too late for that now.

* * *

The first outburst was not minor at all, an echo of a cry and wail. His beautiful pale face all scrunched up and red. His white-blonde hair almost sprung up on end like the hairs of a cat when offended. He was upset about something, that much was very obvious. 

Surprisingly the Dark Lord was somehow great with kids — kids that fit his standards and his mission of course. When he first found the young Malfoy crying, everything had been floating around him, barely an inch off the ground but it was obvious he was a strong child, a prodigy, much like himself. He would be amazing, but until his parents got off their high horse about saying he hadn't been showing the signs of a prodigy at such a young age, he would wait. 

He did make slight implications such as requesting to see the boy more often as he grew into preschooler age. It seemed as though the child was inexplicably bright on top of being a prodigy in magic. He was perfect and would make a fine heir.

No one was better to work in his place if something was to happen to him. Someone to carry on the message. 

* * *

Everyone knew that he was destined to be intertwined with Voldemort in a close way, everyone but the said child. Voldemort once again decided to spend his time in Malfoy Manor. Lucius was not among the few that had been captured but he was on the verge of death near the end when Draco was born.

Luciud did eventually find a way to cheat death,  and was healed to optimal health once again. 

It took time but finally, his parents could not deny it. They also had the idea that maybe their son would the key in regaining their honor as Voldemort was not too pleased with their progress in tracking certain key people within the order. It was selfish to sentence their son without the choice but they felt as though it would be best.

He was five when they finally did a magical capacity test. 

It was much higher than thought possible. Ranging at about the average peak of even a wizard that was in their prime, even if they did live longer than muggles. Perhaps he had had more than one compatible magic partner. That would explain it. They were a rarity though to even have one, but more than one? That was certainly legendary.

They knew they had a chance to get back in the Dark Lord's good graces and they snatched it. 

Lucius Malfoy volunteered and handed over his son to the Dark Lord completely. 

His son wasn't marked but they did the blood adoption ritual. It wasn't illegal but the ethical technicalities could be concerning to a few. At least there was research for a less bloody way to do it. For now, it was the only way to magically adopt. With blood adoption magic, all guardian and parental rights were transferred to the person whose blood was transferred. It was a gruesome ceremony but the end of it would either work in pain or in serenity depending on whether the adopter would be a good balance for the adoptee. 

Two small pentagrams were drawn with the blood of the previous parents to ensure a rightful transfer and they represented the bodies of those who were to be bonded. Each point represented an important part of the human body. The circle was to represent the magical aura that flowed inside them. 

One drop of blood from Voldemort was required in one pentagram and then one from the child was required. Then the sigils made with blood were to burn as they stood on it. 

Once that part of the ceremony was over, Voldemort was to transfigure a cup with a bit of his blood and Draco was to drink it while the charged sigils glowed from their ceremony. 

He had to force it down his throat because Draco would not drink it when he saw Voldemort gather the blood from his wrist. 

Then he had to take Draco's blood himself to seal the deal. Draco resisted, being five years old he didn't understand at all. 

_Why was this happening, what was this?_

_He didn't want to do this!_

He screamed as a small bit of blood dribbled from his wrist now and was being gathered into a cup. 

Then it was healed. The cup tipped to the man's lips. 

A blinding light was overcast, along with the smoke from the output fire, brightly white before dimming and falling at the color of a homely ombre, to a sleek dark chocolate color that was practically almost black, and then finally to dull black charcoal.

_Fire._

_His senses were flooded._

_He was on fire._

_Prickles at his skin that felt like scorching water._

_Searing pain._

_He was gasping under water._

_It burned._

_Drowned in the inexplicable pain._

_He fell to his knees._

**_He felt so weak._ **

No wonder there was barely any practice of this magic. The pain was incomparable, it was heartbreaking, no soul breaking. It felt as though you had been drained of all your blood, was dying, and replaced with the new blood while being painfully revived back into the miserable existence held before. It felt as though you'd retched your insides out and now it was to repair itself with a gross and painful potion. 

He wasn't a pureblood anymore, he was now tainted with the half-blood of his new father.

He wasn't just Draco Lucius Malfoy, he was now Draco Lucius Malfoy-Riddle, heir to the Dark Lord, Voldemort.

His eyes were blood-red, no longer the silvery depth it once was.

 _—_ **A part of him was ecstatic**

_— the other felt discarded._

* * *

He was the next generation, a child soldier, lean but with a thin layer of muscles. He would see the other pureblood children, but they were always in awe of him. In awe of the one who was merely a half-blood now. Perhaps they thought it was an honor to be the heir of the Dark Lord, to learn from him. 

**— and it was**

_— sometimes._

He felt objectified with their stares. It had made it into the papers and there wasn't anyone who didn't know. He didn't like this feeling. 

He didn't make friends with the other purebloods as they were only focused on him because he was the heir to the Dark Lord. If he wasn't, they only would've paid attention because he was a Malfoy. Malfoys are very influential even if they weren't exactly one of the purest of the purebloods. 

He didn't want this, this was _**overwhelming.**_

He wanted _normal_ , something ordinary. 

Whatever this was, it was not normal, or ordinary. 

It was **chaotic.**

* * *

He didn't want to be a part of the revels, the raids, and the massacres. The massacres happened every once in a while, followed by a raid, and then  revels were everynight. He was supposed to be honored to be allowed to join in the revels now that he was nearing the age where Hogwarts sent out acceptance letters. 

Today was his ninth birthday. He didn't know why nine was so significant, why not wait another year that would mark the fifth year spent with Voldemort? 

"You will not join but you're to watch. After all, you have not learned any unforgiveables." He sneered. The snake coiled around him and Draco thought that was the kindest thing he'd ever heard from him even if it did imply forced participation later. 

Draco looked around the area. He watched as muggle women, men, and — _gag_ — children, even babies, were brought out and each Death Eater had their choosing. 

He noticed a couple familiar faces, but they didn't look familiar they looked like completely different people. He noticed his father — no that was not his father anymore — getting off to the torture as were many of the other death eaters. Some didn't didn't torture but instead killed them outright in distaste. 

While the room was spacious with white walls, stains of red were splattered and the screams, cries, pleas, gurgling noises were so frequent, so loud, that it felt as though the walls were caving in. 

He clutched his chest, hyperventilating as he tried to steady his heartbeat. His eyes continued to scan the area taking in every small detail presented to him by the revel. 

He studied each person — no they were not people, they were figures — each figure, and their silhouette, he studied the delight, disgust, and satisfaction etched on their faces as it was burned into his memory. 

**At the same time, a part of him wanted to join — wanted to gain the same satisfaction of killing these muggles. He never felt as close to satiated as he watched this revel.**

_Those thoughts scared him, but he still couldn't tear his eyes away. That wasn't right, his mother or anyone ought to smack him at even the thought._

He was flooded with information as the tortured were raped, violently convulsed, torn open, and killed. He could feel the piercing stare of the Dark Lord — his father — staring at him, trying to assess whether he was strong enough to handle this, to handle more of the things they had to do. 

He kept his shoulders straight and rolled them back. He took in a fresh breath — he could almost taste something metallic, something disturbing — and laid his hands by his side. 

_Why was it so easy to act as though he didn't mind all of this?_

**Because you're just as sick as everyone else here.**

_— no. it's different._

It was as though two halves of him fought in vain to get him to see through their eyes. He watched in both, one through **the** **dark lens,** and the other through  _the light lens._

He felt as though he had been pushed to the back.

 **He** slowly turned

— and **his** gaze captured — _his father's_  — eyes. 

 **He** didn't flinch or intake a sharp breath, no **he** held his gaze

_— the man's lips upturned into a sneer-esque smile_

_— they continued — the_ _staring continued_

_— it was a challenge_

**_— this was a test._ **

**Would he break?**

It seemed Voldemort was pleased and chuckled deeply, sending sound waves reverberating through the room. 

"Wrap up the revel! What a fine night it is!"

Everyone nodded their heads no matter what they were doing. 

Within minutes each death eater stood before then, some covered in blood, some covered in other fluids and the rest pristinely cleaned. 

Draco drowned out the speech — his father — gave and kept his thoughts to himself. Over the years he had been told of occlumency and practiced it with his godfather. He had a natural affinity for it, but there was  **that voice** he couldn't block out. 

* * *

The massacres took place in a muggle neighborhood and the muggles thought they were "terrorist" attacks. It _disgusted_   **—** **and thrilled —**  him to no end. 

Some witches and wizards hid in these neighborhoods and someone bragged they had found Lily and James Potter. She was a muggleborn and he was a blood traitor, of course, they would be somewhat high on his to kill list. 

They had a boy around his age, he didn't want to meet him. Possibly a bit younger than him. _He really didn't want to see that kid die or be tortured by his hands or another's._

 **At the same time, his soldier built body and a part of his mind**   **sang for the violence, it wanted to join, as it did with every revel.** It was as though there was a dissonance between his mind and body, between so much of him that he wasn't even sure who he was anymore. 

_Was he already going insane?_

  **Yes, and it was delightful.**

_— No, it couldn't be._

He screamed as he stayed in his room that day. He barricaded himself inside, this war between himself was an aching thing to deal with and sometimes he wondered if he could give into both, spend time reworking the halves together to create some harmony.

**_We're too different._ **

He ensured himself that he was not about to crawl into a ball, and sat upon his bed, blankly staring at the wall.

No, this wasn't good for him at all. This adoption was a nightmare, this life was a nightmare.

He stood up to look for the Malfoy tapestry and left his room. When he found it, his fingers stroked the fabric as he continued on a mindless trail of thoughts.

He wondered if the cause of this madness was partially due to the massive amounts of inbreeding on his  _biological_ mother's side and also partially triggered by spending massive amounts of time with the Dark Lord which questioned everything he thought he knew about when he was five years old.

**_He was not mad. He was normal._ **

"It's time to go." His voice slithered through the halls echoing. 

He placed on his mask and followed the Dark Lord to the massacre.

It was not going to be pretty, and it wasn't.

He could hear warning bells in his head, it was odd, something he never heard before. Right before the ringing bells, one of the pack, Fenrir's pack, had gone inside a house. It probably had muggles.

He was focused on keeping pace with Voldemort, but he did feel a wave of relief, along with a sense of urgency that he ignored, when he heard the warning bells stop.

* * *

He kept himself hidden as Voldemort approached the boy with tact. 

_He truly did not want to be there._

**Unless he was the one doing the torturing.**

_He didn't want to partake in it though._

**Couldn't because he didn't have a wand yet but still.**

He shook his head as he kept his hood up.

The boy had speckles upon his face and smooth tan skin, it was much tanner than Draco's pale skin that glowed in the sun. He had hair the color of black charcoal, _why did that remind him of something?_

For some reason every time he looked at that boy, he felt as though he were shivering after getting out of some water.

It seemed as though James and Lily were nowhere to be found and the boy didn't know what to say. 

He was about to speak up, concluding that after he had looked around the house and that the only person that was there was the boy but then the door slammed open.

His magic hummed as if there was the last piece of the puzzle had been inside.

His eyes scanned around the area, he recalled a distant memory his — mother —  had spoken to him about magical equals and the compatibility.

There had been sparks in the air as he looked at the faint girl who soon stirred. He felt the flicker of a flame being fanned as he looked at her ombre colored hair. Such a nice homely shade of brown.  _That also_ seemed _familiar._

It was a good thing he had his mask on, to think these two might see him again and resent him terrified him for some reason. 

 _ **He didn't want to hurt them.**_  

— He could feel it from both of his halves, not just one, but both of them.

For some reason both of his halves were at ease, and actually compliant with the two of them there.

He knew that one day they would be caught on different sides of the war. That thought saddened him but he steeled his resolve and acted as though he didn't notice the sparks between the three of them. He indicated to the Dark Lord that he would gather everyone else and he didn't wait for a response. 

_**He couldn't stay in there.** _

_**He really didn't believe in hope.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still actually thinking about how I want them to go into each house. I will keep Draco's original house, I am trying to decide between Slytherin and possibly Hufflepuff (because it feels like she needs some love and Hufflepuff could be good for her or Slytherin as they are loyal as well) for Hermione. I am thinking about keeping Harry's cannon house as not a lot has changed in his part of the prophecy plus house unity would be a nice thing?  
> Ah, house unity, at first I thought about it being about four but then I was like I have no idea who I would make the fourth person so I scrapped it.  
> 


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